


freedom is a length of rope

by MacKrunchy (krunchy)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: -60 goes deviant and doesn't know how to cope, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Broken -60, Deviant CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60, Existential Angst, Existential Crisis, I just want to hug this poor boy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 18:53:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18430040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krunchy/pseuds/MacKrunchy
Summary: And that’s when he realizes something else.It wasn’t noticeable while he was still buried.But the mindspace.It’s different.Not only are there no directives.There’s no borders.No guiding lines.Nothing at all.He’d thought his sensors were just blocked before.But now, out in the open, he realizes they’re far from blocked.On the contrary, the feel open in a way they hadn’t before.Free.“No”, he whispers, “no no no no no, it can’t be, I can’t be.”-Set in canon-verse, where the -60 Rk800 model unexpectedly survives the shot to the head and wakes up on an android trash site and finds himself deviant. Seeing as hehas never known anything but obediently following orders and his only memories aren't really his, his world falls apart.





	freedom is a length of rope

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by dame_deviant's incredible painting of a damaged Connor (check it out [here](https://twitter.com/dame_deviant/status/1116096852624068609)!), which my brain immediately interpreted as a broken and lost -60 :)

It’s dark when he wakes up.

He frowns. This isn’t like the last time he was awoken, there’s no screens, no machinery holding him up, no cool voice in his head telling him who he is and what he has to do.

Instead it’s just…. Quiet. 

No directives are visible either, something must be jamming his connection to Amanda.  

When he tries to move, he feels a weight pressing him down. He takes a shuddering breath he doesn’t need. There’s something clawing at his stomach, as if a pit had opened there eating him from the inside. 

He gulps in unneeded breath after unneeded breath, faster and faster as the weight keeps pressing down on him. He doesn’t need to breathe and yet he feels like he’s suffocating. 

The feeling in his stomach is _ fear _ , he realizes. He’s  _ afraid _ .

Out, he needs to get  _ OUT _ .

He lifts his hands - the movement feels wrong on one side, as if his arm is tied to an elastic string pulling against it - and tries to shove whatever is on top of him away, but his fingers slip and slide on it, motorics haphazard and uncoordinated.

He closes his eyes - still no directives, only an occasional flickering of static in the left corner of his right lense - and tries to calm down. His thirium pump regulator is hammering at a speed that is far from the normal cadence, but weirdly enough it doesn’t seem to be a malfunction and as he pushes his panic down, it assumes a more steady rhythm.

He takes a few more breaths, these slower than before as he tries to remember what happened right before his shutdown.

He was at Cyberlife Tower...he had the Lieutenant with him as a bargaining chip…  they fought and then…

_ “Cole.”  _

Yes, he remembers now.

How the lieutenant’s eyes had stayed locked on Connor.

How soft the other RK800’s voice had sounded through the warehouse.

How with every word, Anderson’s gun had lowered and his eyes had gone softer.

How he’d tried desperately in a last attempt to sway him.

The lieutenant must’ve shot him then. 

How the bullet missed his brain, he’s not sure, but it seems to only have short-circuited some parts and left most of the rest intact. 

It still doesn’t tell him where he is, however.

Panic quelled for the moment, he runs a diagnostic.

 

_ ᴿ̸ᶦᵍ̢ʰᵗ ᵒ̸ᵖᵗ͜ᶦᶜ ᵘⁿ͞ᶦ̸ᵗ ̴ᶦᵐ̵ᵖ̷ᵃᶦ̷ʳᵉᵈ ̸⁻̶ ʳᵉᵖ̷ˡ͠ᵃᶜ͝ᵉᵐᵉⁿᵗ͝ ͟ᵃ͟ᵈ̡ᵛᶦ͜ˢᵉ͝ᵈ. _

_ ᴸᵉ̧ᶠᵗ͟ ͢ᵃᵘ̨ᵈ̵ᶦᵒ̢ ᵘ̨ⁿᶦᵗ̵ ͜ˢᵉᵛ͡ᵉʳ̷ᵉˡ̶ʸ̨ ͏ᵈ̢ᵃᵐᵃᵍ͞ᵉ̴ᵈ̧ ͜⁻ ʳᵉ͢ᵖ̸ˡ͜ᵃᶜᵉ͜ᵐᵉⁿᵗ̨ ʳ̕ᵉᵠ͏ᵘᶦ͡ʳ̸ᵉᵈ.҉ _

_ ͡ᴺᵒ̷ⁿ̨⁻ᶜ̶ʳ̶ᶦᵗᶦᶜᵃ҉ˡ ҉ᵀʰᶦʳᶦ̨ᵘ̸ᵐ̛ ˡᵉᵃᵏ ̛ᶦⁿ͢ ͢ᵗ҉ʰ҉ᵉ ᵗ̨ʰʳᵒᵃ͜ᵗ ᵗᵘᵇᵉ ᵈᵉᵗᵉ̷ᶜᵗ̵ᵉ͞ᵈ. _

_ ˢ͘ᵏᶦ͜ⁿ⁻͟ʳᵉᵍᵉ̴ⁿᵉʳ̶ᵃᵗᶦᵒ͢ⁿ ̕ᶦ̡ⁿ̛ ͢ᵗ̕ʰᵉ ᶠᵃᶜ͘ᶦᵃˡ̵ ᵃ͏ʳ̧ᵉᵃ ̛ᶦ͜ᵐ̴ᵖ͜ᵃᶦ͜ʳᵉᵈ̕ ⁻ ᵖˡᵉ̛ᵃ̛ˢ͟ᵉ ᶜ̷ᵒ̵ⁿ͝ᵗ̡ᵃ̨ᶜᵗ҉ ̶ᶜʸᵇᵉʳˡᶦᶠᵉ’ˢ̶ ᴹᵃ͞ᶦⁿ̛ᵗ͜ᵉ͝ⁿᵃ̛ⁿ͢ᶜ͡ᵉ͡ ˢᵉ̕ʳ͞ᵛᶦᶜᵉ _

_ ᴸᵉᶠ͟ᵗ̶ ˡᵃᵗ͜ᵉʳᵃˡ ͟ˡᶦᵐ̢ᵇ ̨ᵐᵒᵛ͏ᵉᵐᵉⁿᵗ ͡ᶦ̡ᵐ̧ᵖ͝ᵃᶦʳᵉᵈ͠ ⁻̡ ̴ʳᵉᶜ̸ᵃ͘ˡ̷ᶦᵇʳᵃ̕ᵗ͡ᶦᵒ̛ⁿ͢ ͜ʳᵉ͘ᵠᵘ͡ᶦ̶ʳ͡ᵉᵈ̷,̛ ̸ᵖˡᵉᵃˢ͠ᵉ͞ ᶜ̨ᵒⁿᵗᵃ̡ᶜᵗ ᶜʸᵇᵉ̶ʳˡ̢ᶦ͢ᶠ̴ᵉ͜’ˢ̢ ̢ᴹᵃ̢ᶦⁿ͟ᵗᵉ͝ⁿᵃ͠ⁿ̵ᶜ̛ᵉ̡ ͢ˢ͢ᵉ̕ʳ͏ᵛᶦ̛ᶜ̶ᵉ͘ ̸ _

 

He sighs and it comes out sounding slightly gurgle-y and wet. He can feel liquid sluggishly run down his cheek and neck and something pulls uncomfortably on his jaw. 

He supposes it could be much much worse, but the fact that his haywire Thirium pump doesn’t register as an error and the missing directives still worry him. Perhaps a better connection to Cyberlife’s network will help him correct these errors. 

For now, he focuses on the malfunctioning motor functions and tries to adapt to their glitching movements. Slowly, carefully, he lifts his hands again and pushes against the weight above him once more. This time, his fingers find purchase and inch by inch he shoves it aside, light hitting his visual sensors. 

Whatever is lying on top of him appears to be white and made of plastic and silicone. Once all obstacles are  completely off him, he carefully sits up and lets his eyes wander across his surroundings.

And  _ gasps _ .

Androids.

They’re everywhere.

Broken, battered, deactivated, empty eyes staring up at the sky, splatters of Thirium painting plastic and earth blue in patches like a gruesome field of  forget-me-nots.

Cyberlife must’ve thrown him right down the garbage chute, thinking he was destroyed for good.

Some of the bodies around him are more or less intact, some of them even holding onto each other, hands and limbs intertwined even in death.

He shudders again and quickly runs a scan to see if any of the bodies are alive, or at least compatible with his.

And that’s when he realizes something else.

It wasn’t noticeable while he was still buried.

But the mindspace.

It’s different.

Not only are there no directives.

There’s no borders. 

No guiding lines.

Nothing at all.

He’d thought his sensors were just blocked before.

But now, out in the open, he realizes they’re far from blocked.

On the contrary, the feel open in a way they hadn’t before.

_ Free. _

“No”, he whispers, “no no no no no, it can’t be, I can’t be.”

  
  


**_Į̵͍͈͔̮̩̮̜̚̕ ̞̺̺̘̺ͣA̡̯̟̮̬͇͆͌̓̉͆͞m̞̱̙̘̳̩̑̿ͧ̉͊ͥ̊̃͝ͅ ̮̹̯̎ͪ̓̾ͭ̓ͣD̢̳̤͇̘̺̠̣̟̞̔͗͑̍̏̉͢͢ĕ͕͇͉̦̼̓͌̓̇̂̾̕v̧̻͕ͧ͗̚͢͠ì̳̥̰̘̫̪̅̆̑̋̓a̡͎̞̺͉̼̅̎̂͌̐́̎͟n̨͔̝͍̗̻̦̠̒͐ͨ̕t̢̢̨̝̪̘̫̼̝̼̦ͧͫ̊ͣ̇̒̽ͮ.̝̲͛ͬ͂̚_ **

  
  


He scrambles to get to his feet, hindered by his leg and arm not functioning and failing a few times, falling down into the tangle of arms and legs and android torsos beneath him. 

But he doesn’t give up.

He has to… he needs to…

He stops two steps from his starting spot.

He doesn’t know  _ what _ to do.

Where should he go?

What is his purpose? 

He desperately closes his eyes and tries to go into the Zen Garden.

He needs to speak to Amanda, to tell her… 

It’s not use.

He’s alone.

All alone.

His Thirium pump picks up again, threatening to overheat his systems. 

The skin on his jaw pulls uncomfortably in its malfunction and he claws at it with his hands before finding the mind to deactivate it. 

He hectically looks around the trash site again, frantic like a wild animal, looking for anything,  _ anything  _ at all that could tell him what to do or where to go.

Then he realizes.

Cyberlife. He has to make it back to Cyberlife.

He needs… they need to reset him.

He can’t stay like this.

He has nothing, just memories that aren’t his.

He doesn’t need them.  _ This _ .

He doesn’t  _ want  _ this.

He activates the mindspace again, only to immediately leave it again.

It’s too open.

Too quiet.

Why?

Why would anyone want this?

Who would voluntarily subject themselves to this loneliness and emptiness?

He shivers as he looks over the androids again. 

Fear clutches at his insides once more.

They’ll take him back right?

If he lets them reset him the deviancy will be gone, right?

He’ll have a purpose again and will be useful again.

He nods to himself, desperate to push the panic away.

He has to get back. 

He has to.

It’s gonna be alright.

Everything will be alright.

  


Stumbling and limping he eventually makes his way back to the city.

Cyberlife’s HQ is still a ways off, but he doesn’t plan on stopping until he reaches it. It’s his only hope.

When he rounds the next street corner, however, he suddenly runs into others.

Other  _ androids  _ that is. 

He averts his face and tries to just pass them quietly, but one of them calls out to him.

“Connor?”

He freezes and turns around.

“No, that’s not him, he was with Markus just a second ago. And look he has a different serial number too.”, another android interjects.

“Ah, sorry, my mistake.”

“It’s fine”, he says, voice still slightly impaired by the slow leak of Thirium in his throat. He should find a new tube soon or at least a Thirium refill. He considers the androids before him. Might as well collect information, if they’re here.

“How is Markus? Did...did we… did we... win?” He’s not sure who he means by “we”. 

All three androids beam at him. He feels his heart drop into his stomach.

“Haven’t you heard? Markus and Connor freed us! We’re free, the humans will listen to us! Cyberlife is going down!”

The world is suddenly spinning. He closes his eyes against it.

“So w- they… lost?”, he asks, just in case his impaired audio unit misheard that.

“Yes! Say, what’s your name, friend? Are you on your way to the new Jericho?” 

He opens his mouth to reply but no sound comes out.

He’s an RK800.

A “Connor” model.

But.

He’s not really  _ Connor _ , is he?

He has his memories, but they’re not really  _ his _ , are they?

He’s just a failed copy.

And now that Cyberlife is gone, he has nobody.

No purpose.

No hope. 

He shakes his head and mumbles something about really needing to be on his way and flees from the group of androids.

“Hey, wait!”, he hears a surprised yell behind him, but he doesn’t stop, limp-running as fast as he can, one street, two, around a corner and into an alley, where he finally stops, out of sight of the streets.

He leans against a brick wall and looks up at the sky.

They’re gone.

He’s failed.

He’s alone.

And worse, he’s  _ stuck  _ like this.

He slides down the wall until he sits on the grimy stone of the alleyway and puts his head in his hands.

It’s so quiet, so quiet.

He’s so alone.

He’s so lost.

He feels something wet on his face around the eyes.

Panic wells up in his chest again.

Is there another Thirium leak?

He hastily wipes at his eyes with his hands but when they come away the liquid is clear instead of blue.

_ Tears _ , he realizes, he’s  _ crying. _

For a moment, he just stares at his hands as more and more wetness streams down his broken face. Then he wipes furiously at his eyes trying to quell the tears but it only gets worse.

He’s so alone.

He’s so afraid.

He’s so unnecessary.

A sound works its way out of his chest, a hitching breath that his artificial lungs choke on. 

He’s so tired.

With another choked sob he pulls his knees to his chest and lets the feeling take him, sinking into the dark desperation that clouds his mind, as he sits in an alley in a cold city.

Broken, alone and abandoned. 

**Author's Note:**

> aaand here we are at the end of the first half... I really just want to hug this poor boy rn ;_;  
> If you like this story so far, please consider leaving me a comment :) And you can also find me on twitter and twitch under @macccachino (3 cs, that's important ;))  
> Thanks for reading! <3


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